


The Last Straw

by Honor Killingsworth (Bitrektual)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Episode: The Abominable Bride, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 17:48:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5675020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bitrektual/pseuds/Honor%20Killingsworth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After his treatment at the hands of his ex-best friend and older brother, Sherlock seeks out an old friend to turn to. Anxious to leave London and everyone who has been smothering him, Sherlock contacts Victor Trevor in the hopes he may have one friend left in the world. One friend who Sherlock Holmes might actually be able to trust.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last Straw

**Author's Note:**

> I know this isn't well written, and I know it's not very long. It's not really designed to be excellent fanfiction so much as meant to try and ease some of my depression over the state of BBC's Sherlock. While I enjoy some of the ideas portrayed, I'm really not at all a fan of BBC ever since they started ruining the show after Series Two. The special was just beyond horrible to my poor muse, who I also roleplay on Tumblr. So I guess this is my little way of trying to express my horror at the show ( and the portion of the fandom delusional enough to believe in TJLC ) and the ghastly way that everyone has treated poor Sherlock. This takes place a few days to a week after the events on the plane, with Sherlock making plans to go MIA. Needless to say, Sherlock and I are 10000% done with the shit job that they've done on the show here recently.

"Get out!" Sherlock shouted, pointing at the door. "Out!" he shouted once more, for good measure, when it looked as though Mrs. Hudson might disobey. With a disgruntled 'ohh!' she rushed out muttering something about having a talk with his mother. Honestly! As if that would do any good. Sherlock was beyond any help from his mother, or any of his family or friends for that matter. They were all so... untrustworthy. And so overly concerned.

It was just a few days since he'd returned from 'exile' on the plane, and he was in no cheerful state. He was practically on house arrest, and it was starting to wear on him. There was always someone around; Hudson, John, Mary, even Mycroft had been coming around more than once a day. It was starting to get on Sherlock's last nerve, and he had half a mind to do something about it. In fact, the something was in the process and would surely be finished soon enough. Just as soon as he got the text he was waiting on.

This morning, after a particular violent argument with John concerning Sherlock's continued drug use, Sherlock had locked all his doors and forbid Mrs. Hudson from letting anyone in. He was tired of being smothered by what his peers liked to call 'care'. Thinking they had to cater to his needs, to find ways to entertain him as though he were some child who couldn't figure out how to entertain himself. Well, enough was enough! Sherlock wouldn't stand for it any longer, and it wasn't just because they gave him such a hard time about the drugs. It was because they had better things to do with their time besides worrying about him. He could take care of his own problems just fine without their help, and now they would have to do the same. Because Sherlock Holmes was leaving Baker Street. For how long was yet to be seen.

'I know I haven't texted this number in a long time,' it began, Sherlock fingers nearly misspelling several words in his anxiousness to get the text out and sent. 'But I really need a friend right now. Someone I can trust, and I think you're the only one I have. SH.' With his automatically signature tacked onto the end, he sent the text and then proceeded in his packing. Even if Victor wouldn't take him, he had to get out of here. He would exile himself, if he had to. In fact, that was better. He could disappear right out from under Mycroft's nose. John's, too, if he had to. And eventually they would have to stop looking for him. Eventually, they would have to get on with their own lives.

Looking around the flat, he tried to decide what he would take and what he would leave. Most of the stuff in here, he would leave. It could fill the place as they looked for him fruitlessly, and eventually when they gave up, it would either sit and collect dust again, or maybe they might actually get rid of it all. Mrs. Hudson could let out the flat again, and maybe this time she would get a renter who wouldn't cause her all kinds of pains and misery.

A text message alert, and Sherlock practically dove at the phone to read what it said.

'Sherlock, what a surprise? I didn't think you still had this number. Are you okay? I've been keeping an eye on the news.' Sherlock rolled his eyes at this and began typing his response.

'I'm fine, but I need to get out of London. I need to get away from John and Mycroft. SH.'

'Really? I thought things were going well. John's published all those books about you. They're really exciting.'

'Forget the books. Forget John. It doesn't matter, anymore. What matters now is that I need to get out. Can you help me? Please? SH.'

'Help how? What's wrong, Sherlock?'

It took some time, and eventually required a phone call. But Sherlock finally explained the situations with his friends, his family, the drugs, and all the wrong ways in which everyone was trying to help. He didn't need to be cleaned up, he needed to be listened to. He needed to be trusted, and he needed people to start treating him like a damn adult! Victor, his one true friend, Victor understood. He knew Sherlock well enough, better than most people. He would know that, given all the stress that the detective was under right now, Sherlock needed to be free. To be himself, no matter who that was. But in a place where he wouldn't hurt people who cared. Not that Victor didn't care, of course, but he cared differently. He cared in a way that didn't make Sherlock feel like he had a pillow pressed over his face.

A knock on his door, and Sherlock's heart leapt in his throat when he heard John's voice on the other end. John was the last person Sherlock needed, and he quickly snapped shut what few bags he was taking with him. Then he shut his bedroom door and moved to the front of the flat. There, he greeted John and stood in the doorway, blocking his path.

"I'm a little busy, John. Can you come back in a few hours?" he asked.

"What? No. What are you doing in there?" he asked suspiciously, and Sherlock scowled.

"Not drugs, if that's what you're wondering. I'm not stupid," he muttered, and John scoffed as if this were questionable. This only succeeded in riling Sherlock up more, and he sharply dismissed the man by shutting the door and locking it. "You can come back in a few hours, John." He would not let John in, absolutely not. He wouldn't risk the man discovering Sherlock's plan to leave and trying to stop him, or talk him out of it. He wouldn't be able to, so it was best to just shut him out and then leave. No goodbyes to make things complicated, no explanations because then they would only try to figure out what he was doing and where he was going. He would wait until John was gone, and then make his break. By the time his old friend returned, he would be long gone. Free of his captivity, of his torment at the hands of people he cared about.

Cared about enough to free them of him.


End file.
